Jane [h.s.]

eight

Jane cried for the rest of the day. Of course, everyone left her alone like they always did because everyone was fucked up in one way or another. She sat inside the "sitting room" for a long time, curled into a chair in the corner of the room by the book shelf.

The voices were louder than ever and she hated it, but she was so tired of trying to push them back every second of every day. Maybe being on the list wasn't such a bad thing, even if she was terrified.

She'd seen so many people come out of that room as shells and even less that came out looking as normal as ever. There was no guaranteeing which one she would be and that kept her up for half the night. The other half of the night she was up thinking about Harry.

He was constantly in her head, partially because her own mind didn't like him, but mostly because her heart wanted him more than it wanted itself to function. Jane knew that either way she was going to lose memories and that actually accounted for most of her fear.

The process itself was awful, but losing memories about the only good times in her life, the times when she was with Harry, was the thing that scared her the most. He was the only person that truly cared for her once he knew that something was wrong and she didn't want to lose the memory of him, even if she made the decision to let him go.

At some point, she had decided to try to at least write something down, her mind was at war with itself, but she needed to do this. Jane scanned the bookshelf five times until she managed to find what she was looking for; an empty journal.

She'd seen it there a few times before, when she was trying to quiet her mind and she was glad that she had. Without it, she'd be completely lost.

Jane could be resourceful when she needed to be and she managed to find a pen in between the cushions of one of the ratty couches. For as long as she could, she wrote down everything she could remember that involved Harry.

Her mind screamed at her, tormented her, and fought her every step of the way, but she did it.

Sneaking the journal into her room was another story though. Jane knew there was no way that it would be possible, so she shoved it deep in the ratty couch where she had found the pen. During the last day she had left, she snuck in the two cards that she had kept under her pillow and tucked it inside the journal.

With any luck, she would at least remember that it was there after she made it out of the dreaded room. Granted, if she even made it out alive.

Harry tried to see her again on the last day and she made the guards keep him away even though all she wanted was for him to stay and tell her that everything was going to be alright. For two days, she lay awake in her bed, crying and hugging her sad excuse for a pillow to her chest.

The people in rooms around hers yelled at her to shut up, but the guards left her alone. There was a small part of them that felt sorry for her because they'd seen what had gone on behind closed doors and it was something that kept them up late at night.

Jane let the voices rage in her mind and mumbled to herself occasionally. At some point during the night, she managed to say a prayer and mutter an apology to someone that might never hear it.

Early on the morning of the third day, the nurses, accompanied by a few guards, came to take her to the room at the end of the hall; the room of horrors.

Jane knew what was coming, but she couldn't force herself to not be afraid. She pleaded, cried, and fought with the guards to stay in her room, to take her off the list because she would be good, but it didn't do much of anything.